Wrath
Content warning: Violence, Torture, Suidice, Drugs, Sexual Assult.
I stared at an embalmed body. Supposedly, I should be reciting the last rite for this. Atleast, mock reciting. Nothing came into my mind. Nothing good. What had become of me? I wasn’t empty anymore. I was hollow. Dark thoughts crept at my mind. Everytime I closed my eyes. Wings getting sawed off, teeth torn out, my halfbreed children's blood on my hands.
What use does a Dustwoman have for sex? Not a Dustwoman hopeful, a factotum. Something people are supposed to look up to. It made me feel good. Senses stimulated to force satisfaction, peace, pleasure. No thought, no memories, just movement and the hint of kind emotions. I like it. It was sex, your supposed to like it. It makes the mortals breed, and spawn more of their ilk.
I shook my head, and stood up. Nobody would notice if I left. Technically I wasn't ‘on duty. I could do this in time. I walked to a specific coffin, and gathered all my bags. I turned, and reached my hands out, feeling. Suddenly, I grasped, and a latent portal was torn open. I hopped through and arrived at the infinite staircase.
I walked up the stairs until I didn’t know where I was. A found a door leading to a prime. I didn’t know its name. I stepped through. I landed in a grove of a forest. I smelled tar, and burning wood. There were two moons high in the sky.
Tortured screams pierced the night. I shook my head, and looked around. Lights from flame could be seen through the trees. I crept closer. Peeking out from behind a bush, I saw a familiar sight.
Some kind of cleric, a mass of armed devout, as well as a few well-armed and armored people, probably paladins, stood around two pyres. A young woman was strapped to one, an old woman to the other. They wailed to the sky as fire charred their skin, bubbled fat, cracked bone. Fire was a bad way to go. And the pyres were built cruelly. The fire licked at them from the bottom up, slowly rising. They would live through most of their bodies being torched before they died. The priest was chanting. I paid it no mind. This wasn't exactly an odd sight.
I looked up and in the distance, saw more smoke. This time, from the chimneys of houses, not from burning women. I picked my way around whatever ritual was happening, and headed in that direction.
It was a three mile walk, but eventually I ended up in a quaint little town. A large camp was set up at the edge of it, with crests emblazoned with a burning fist. A church in the town center held the same crest. Seemed the fire worshippers were locals. A tavern stood close to the entrance to the town. The dancing bear. I entered.
I was a rather odd sight. Grey robes around a mithril chain shirt, a death mask on. The two patrons gave me wary looks. The bartender simply gave me a half-toothless smile.
“And what can I get for you?”
“Milk. Some meat. Berries, if you have any.”
“We got milk. The Smiths just butchered a cow, I bought myself a haunch. And we got some fekkelberries, freshly picked. Would cost you a bit stranger.”
I reached into a pouch, and threw thirty platinum coins into the counter. The barkeep ogled them.
“That enough?”
He nodded.
“Make it fast.”
He quickly got me a glass of cold milk, and somebody in the back set about making my food. As I asked, it was quick, and for a tavern in a small town, it was good fair. Hearty. Nothing I would normally eat, but palatable. I took my time with it, my mask clipped to my belt.
“Who’s camped outside town?”
The three people in the tavern quickly got up and left. Sweat visibly beaded on the barkeeps brow.
“Oh. Themes just some servants of the lord of the blaze.”
“Burning two women out in the forest.”
He swallowed, and looked around, hoping for some escape from the situation.
“Why?”
“We gots… uh… witches. The inquisition is in town. Dealing with them.”
I nodded.
“You got any rooms?”
“We have two, aye. Nothing fancy. Just a bed, chest for your things.”
I threw another thirty platinum on the counter.
“Where?”
“First door up those stairs.”
I nodded, pushed the empty cup and plate his direction, and headed up the stairs. I opened the first door, and found a very meager room. Straw bed, chest, enough space to perhaps sit two people on the floor. I sighed, put my things in the chest, and fell on the mattress. I took some of Bella’s medicine, and soon sleep found me.
I woke up to the sound of wailing. I grabbed my things, and headed outside. Two of those lower faith militant types were dragging a young girl through the streets. A few townspeople stood frozen, watching.
“You want to see what happens to witches!” Shouted one. Nobody responded. He began to tear the girls clothes off. I turned to head further into town. I got a few steps before a. “Who’s that there,” could be heard over the screams. I turned.
The one not tearing her clothes off had noticed me.
“You, stranger. Come here.”
I walked over. I shifted my eyes from demonic red to simple brow. No need to start a fight. I stood a head taller than the man. He looked up at me. I stood still.
“Who are you?” He sait motioning towards me with a mace.
“Just a traveler.”
“And what business do you have?”
“Traveling.”
“Go submit yourself to the lord of blaze’s gaze,” he pointed towards the church. I stared at him. He stared, and broke the gaze first.
“I’m not from here. I don’t want trouble. I’m not going to submit myself to anything.”
My blinkless gaze bored into both of them. I didn't move a muscle. The other turned from the now naked girl, and looked me over. We stood in silence for a minute for two, before the one in front of me nodded.
“Just turn in any witches you see.”
My death mask didnt give away any expression.
“Go on your way.”
I turned, and headed further into town. Silence. That was the mark of this place. People milled about. It looked normal. But nobody spoke, besides to barter at a market stall. No conversation, no speech between mother and babe, no jokes. They looked normal, but not a word passed between anybody. There was also easily twice as many men as women.
I stopped at a food stall, and looked through it, trying to find anything I had never seen before. Nothing at all. Seems I had found a rather boring prime. I spent the rest of the day wandering the town, with no particular goal in mind. As night came, the smell of smoke spread through the streets. Seems the pyre was in the town limits this time. I headed in that direction.
The same men were gathered around the pyre. The girl I had seen in the morning, now clothed in white, waxy cloth, fit for slow burning, was chained to it. The flames had just reached her feet, and the screams had just started. The inquisition held onto two people. An older man and woman. They stared in horror as the woman burned. I approached, and ended up behind the couple.
“Relative?”
They both jumped and turned to me. The two paladins holding them turned helmeted heads to look at me. The couple was terrified.
“Tell her. You shall not hide your shame,” said one of them.
“That's our granddaughter,” choked out the woman. I nodded.
“What she do?”
“Ensorcelled somebody,” said one of the paladins.
“How so.”
They pointed to the cleric leading the execution.
“He spoke it.”
I nodded again, then turned my gaze to the burning. I watched until she was a blackened skeleton. The grandparents were forced to watch the entire thing. I was the last one to leave. I approached the pyre, and leaned down to pick up a handful of ash. I felt it between my fingers.
I headed back to the inn, and went to my room. I sat on the floor, and attempted to meditate.
I was somebody. ‘Null,’ no longer fit. My mind was not empty, the trauma not so fresh. Time, and basic mortal kindness had helped me with that. But I was broken. Purposeless. All mortals where, in a way. But it rang through my essence. An eternity of being a purpose, a walking idea, and then this. Lost. Lost and hopeless. To be without a purpose was worth than a false death. I would take anything over this. Even in the hells tortures I had a purpose. But here, I was nothing. Worse than nothing. I couldn’t even find it myself. A failure at breaking out of my nothing.
Was this the fate of all mortals? Would I need to live with this? Live with this in an immortal husk. Forever grasping at a purpose, forever denied it. Just bad memories, horrid thoughts, and a slow decline. Even the quest for the true death offered me no respite. To get my plane back stirred up things best left buried.
My hands shaking, I reached for a hidden pouch. I took from it three bottles of hard alcohol, and dust. I gave this up. I kept this as a memento. Like the empty greater soul prism. I placed them on the bed, and took my mask off. I uncorked one of the bottles, and went to take a swig. I stopped myself. If I wanted a respite, I could be less of a coward about it.
I took off all my clothes. I put on two rings, a necklace, an enchanted nightgown, and a trollhide cloak. I took a knife, and slit my throat. Darkness took me.
I woke up to a blood covered room, covered in blood. The regeneration enchantments had brought me back. I slit my throat again. And again. For the rest of the night.
When the sun rose again, I cleaned myself, and put my clothes back on. I left the tavern and headed for the church. I went through the unlocked doors. It was set up to allow somebody to preach to the masses. The whole structure was created through the artful burning of wood into shapes and forms. An old man stood behind a raised podium in front of a mass of pews. I approached.
“I was told to come here.”
He jumped, and looked up.
“By the inquisition.”
I nodded.
“Come, come. Let me have a look at you.”
He led me into a back room. Acolytes filled the halls, going about maintaining the place. The priest escorted me through some corridors, and took me into a room with a basic altar.
“What's your name?”
“Null.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Outsider.”
I nodded.
“Take that silly mask off. And your hood.”
I did as instructed.
“Hold still.”
He looked me over. Eventually, he took out a holy symbol, and prayed over it. He looked up at me, brow furrowed.
“You are faithless.”
“I am.”
“How?”
“My gods are dead.”
He gave me an odd look.
“Well… I shall tell you of my god.”
“No, you won't.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m faithless.”
“And you should remain such why?”
“My gods are dead.”
“Are we not supposed to move on from things that are dead? Widows remarry, the pain of a lost sibling fades, children become parents as their own die.”
I pursed my lips.
“You ask to much.”
He gave me a tired smile.
“I only ask that you listen.”
I thought, then sighed and nodded.
“Good!”
He reached into his robes, and pulled out a beaten, worn holy book.
“I follow the Lord of the Blaze.”
“Why?”
“Fire is the power behind every nation.”
Memories of fire scorching my body, and hellfire channeled through my hands flashed across my vision.
“Without fire the cold die, the hungry cannot get food, metal cannot be forged. Without fire, we would be bashing rocks together.”
“And did he bring you fire?”
The old priest's eyes lit up.
“He did! He stole it from the sun, and hid from the moons until he could get to us. The first fire still blazes in Kazal, tended by our greatest grandmasters. You have read some of the texts then?”
“No. It's just a common story.”
He looked slightly confused.
“And your other gods?”
“The gods of heathens.Only my lord holds sway in this nation. Without him, we are lost. We dont need a god of the harvest. The metal tools make our own harvest. We dont need a god of war, for swords forged in fire win our wars.”
I nodded.
“I’m not converting.”
He gazed at me for a long time. I gazed back.
“You have no fire, do you?”
I didn't respond.
“No energy. Your forge is empty. Without purpose.” I growled. He leaned away from me, surprise on his face.
“And what would you know about that?”
“Everybody fire dies at some point. Our lord lit the fire in all of us, but fire requires fuel. Eventually, the fuel runs dry. But the fuel always comes back.”
“And how does the fuel come back?”
“Belief.”
“In your god.”
“No,” he shook his head. “Belief in anything. A work of art, a relationship, the building of a house. Something to stoke fire again.”
“I don’t believe in anything.”
“Yes, that is the problem. You must for the fire to be relit.”
I stared at him.
“I don’t care about anything.”
“Belief and caring. are not the same things”
“How?”
“One does not need to care about a purpose, a drive. The builder might hate the house, but he is still driven to make it. It has stoked his fire.”
“How do I stoke my fire then?”
“That is something only you can answer.”
There was silence for a moment.
“Why are you burning all the women of your village.”
The priest broke eye contact with me.
“The church heard grave news. That we had a coven, snuffing out flames. Sleeping with married men, helping none-family members raise children, turning men from their profession to do what they ‘desire,’”
“And the punishment for such crimes is death?”
“They snuff out the flames of others, so we give them their own personal flame before they die.”
“And what about me?”
“You are a heathen. But you I do not think you snuff our flames. You dont have enough flame yourself to do such a thing.”
“So I wont be bothered?”
“No. I shall speak to the head inquisitor.”
“Good.”
I turned to leave. He caught my hand and stopped me.
“Find your flame. Those without a flame will eventually peter out and die away, ashes on the ground.”
I pulled my hand away, and left the building.
I stayed in the city for the next couple of days. More rapes and burnings every day. Sometimes a dozen at a time. Something began to itch at the back of my mind. Some whisper in my head. Not memories. Something was contacting me. Something trying to worm its way into my skull. I needed to leave.
I gathered my things, and set off for the outskirts of town. No need to open the portal in public. As I reached the edge of town, I passed a small cottage, and the whisper in the back of my head turned into screaming. It was coming from that house.
I kicked the door off its hinges.The old woman I had seen on the second day hung from a noose. The old man knelt at her side, his hands clasped in prayer. That's what I was hearing. I couldn't make out words, but I could hear it. He let out a cry, and fell backwards at my violent entry into his house.
“Who are you praying to,” I snarled.
“Nobody,” he whimpered.
I walked toward him, my form shifting into my scarred, burned natural body. I picked him up by his collar, and lifted him to my one working eye.
“Who are you praying to mortal? Tell me or I shall start removing your fingers.”
He looked away, whimpering. Then, suddenly, he stared into my one working eye.
“He sent you, didn't he?”
“Who?”
“The god of retribution.”
I looked up towards the sky, my brow furrowed.
“What do you pray for.”
“Retribution.”
“Specifics.”
“My granddaughter. She was sleeping with the innkeep. She loved him. Thought she loved him. They burned her. And my daughter. And… her,” he makes a faint gesture towards his dead wife, slowly swinging from the ceiling.
“Do you know what you ask for?”
He looked me in the eyes again.
“Yes,” he hissed.
I dropped him.
“Your prayer will be thought about.”
I shifted my form back
“Dont speak of this to anybody.”
“Bring down retribution. I beg you.”
I turned, and left the building, heading back towards the inn.
I opened the door, and walked to the bar.
“What can I get you?”
I produced a dagger and slammed it 8 inches into the counter. He froze.
“Tell me about the girl who was burned.”
“What?”
I grabbed his collar, and pulled him over the bar.
“The one you were sleeping with.”
“What?”
I pulled the knife out of the bar, and held it to his eye.
“Say what again.”
He was a whimpered mess, attempting to squirm away from my iron grip.
“Speak.”
“I slept with her. She stole her way into my bed. Tried to steal my fire she did!”
I moved the knife to his hand and pried a fingernail off. I heard the sound of patrons fleeing the tavern. He barkeep screamed.
“Lies,” I hissed.
“No! Not lies!”
I broke his thumb. He screamed again.
“I’ll cut off both your hands, roast them in your oven and force them down your throat. Speak.” I snarled.
“I slept with her,” he cried.”
“And?”
“I approached her.”
“Why?”
“She was pretty. And she would always give me them looks.”
“And what did she do”
“Well. Them looks were true. I slept with her.”
“So she didnt steal into your bed, sucked your fire out through your cock?”
“No,” he whimpered, beginning to sob.
“You approached her?”
“Yes.”
I dropped him, and put my knife away.
“I’ll be staying the night. Then you will never see me again.”
“He nodded, not looking at me. I headed back to my blood covered room. I now had pointless information. Burning girls alive for sleeping with married men was hardly justifiable, even if they were trying to ‘steal,’ the men. So what was the point of that?”
Hoar needed to know the real reason for what he wanted me to do. That was the reason. Innkeep approached a young girl, they fuck, girl gets tortured and burned for it. Was that enough for retribution? Yes.
But I wasnt the servant of any fucking gods. I froze. This was a purpose, wasn't it? Bringing retribution. It was. Something from a higher power. Something to guide my being. But why should I? Follow some god. Pointless.
I thought back to the priest of the fire god. I needed fire. What was my fire. What has always been my fire.
Wrath. It was my sin. But was Hoars Wrath a sin? No, not really. It was the Wrath of the wronged. The hurt. Holy Wrath. Or at least Lawful Wrath. I had no Wrath left. Not really.
I closed my eyes, and stilled my breathing. I began to mull over what was happening to this town. I had the memories of a Devil. And a Celestial. I was both, in mind. What was happening to this town was disgusting. And unjust. But who was I to judge.
I snarled, and hammered my bed in half with my hands.
Cowards thoughts. ‘I have done worse, so I cannot lay judgment.’ I have done worse, so I know better than anybody how to lay judgment. Sarin never cared about justice. She killed demons. She hated demons. She killed her.
I shuddered at the thought, gagging.
Children. Out of spite for their father. Azuriel cared about justice. The laws. She brought death and fury from the skies when a city broke the laws laid out by the gods. Why? Why did she? How?
Sarin and Azuriel had fire. The fire of Wrath burned hot at their core. I had no fire left.
An old man sat praying under the body of his dead wife. Because his children had been killed unjustly. This wasnt some random prayer I received. Forced sexual service, the murder of children unjustly. The one thing besides demons that stirred Sarin to wrath. Against the laws of the gods of my home.
Something tugged at my arm. My head snapped over. There was nothing. It tugged again. I quickly cast a spell to see through invisibility. Nothing. Tug tug.
I quickly grabbed my bags, took out a flaming mace, and a buckler, which I strapped to my arm. Tug.
I followed the tug downstairs. The barkeep stared at me in terror. It tugged away from him.
The tugs slowly led me away from the bar, Eventually, I ended up in an alley. Two figures stood at the end. Two of the militants. One had his pants down. Pissing against the wall of the alley. I stepped forward, blocking the exit. The other one looked at me, and furrowed his brow. He held his weapon up slightly.
“Why do you rape them,” I asked calmly.
“What?”
“Why do you rape them?”
*Too put some fire in their belly.”
I slammed my buckler into his jaw, breaking it and sending teeth flying into the alley. He spun, and hit the side of the elly head first. I rushed the one pissing and body slammed him into the wall, breaking a few ribs. I grabbed him by the neck, and turned him around. He began to slam at me with his mace. The hits hurt. My gear healed me faster.
I took the end of my flaming mace and pressed it against the jawline of his helmet. It began to melt through the metal. He screamed as his flesh boiled, and molten metal started to eat through his skin. Soon the mace was through the poorly made helmet, and was pressed against his mouth. It burned through his lips, his teeth, his jaw, cooked then ashed his tongue. He screamed until his vocal cords melted. Eventually I drew the mace back, and slammed it into his head. His whole body exploded into fire. I turned to the other.
He had just managed to stand, his head bleeding, his jaw badly broken. He swung at me with his mace. I caught his hand with my buckler arm, and broke the wrist. I kicked in the front of his knee. He screamed. I dragged him out into the street.
There was silence. But people were watching. I could feel their eyes on me, from slitted windows. I held the man up, and pulled his jaw open. I took a bottle swirling with red molten fire from my belt. I uncorked it, and poured it down his throat. He began to struggle, then his eyes rolled up in his head as it melted his heart. I quickly grabbed a shaft of wood from my belt and pushed it against his throat. Healing magic thrummed through his body as the wand activated. He let out a scream. Every couple of seconds, I would use the wand again, keeping him alive. I used up the entire wand, then dropped him. His body quickly began to melt.
I stood up, and stretched. What was this feeling. Rage. Burning hot wrath coursed through my soul. Hoar called for retribution, and I was willing to give. I was Wrath once again.
I made my way to the church. I cast a quick magical lock on the door, then smashed my mace into the building a few times, causing massive explosions of fire. Shame they didn't have any windows. I stood in front of the burning church and waited. Soon, there was screaming, and scrabbling at the door. I could hear shouting from the inquisition camp outside the city.
Soon a large group of militants, along with six paladins, converged on the burning church.
“You want to save them?” I said.
A paladin stepped forward.
“Step away evildoer, these innocents dont need to die.”
I took a wand from my belt and sent a barrage of rays of fire through his armor. He lit up and began to scream. I held my shield and mace up.
“Come then. Try to save them.”
The poorly trained militant stood no chance. They swung wildly. A single hit from the mace torched them, sending them a screaming flaming mass for a few seconds, then a burned out husk. The paladins took a little longer, but they lacked much magical gear, and did not match Wraths martial skill. Soon the cries from the burning church stopped, and the street wrtr filled with charred corpses. I headed for the camp.
The cleric stood in the center, with ten paladins around him. We fought. Nine died in twelve swings. The final one stood before me, spear in hand, fearless. I dropped my guard, and held my hands out.
“Smite me.”
He roared, and holy fire blazed around him for a moment. The second the spear pierced my belly, it faded, not touching me. He stood there, confused. Then I caved his skull in.
I took the spear out. The cleric looked at me, frozen in fear. I threw the spear at him, piercing his upper leg.I and hog-tied him. While doing so, I weaved a spell around him.
I went back to the burning church. I took an axe from a bag of holding, and cut away some burning logs from the building. I formed a pyre with them. Smaller. Kinder. I went back to fetch the cleric. He didn't struggle.
“I go to meet my god at peace with myself heathen. You will be forever tormented.”
I dragged him to the pyre.
“Cleansing fire.” He muttered to himself.
“You shall see the fire of my being in those flames, as my skin burns and my fat melts. You shall see I am right and true.”
I looked around at the houses. Nobody in sight. But they were all watching. I tossed him onto the fire. My spell worked perfectly.
He didn't burn. Not even his clothes. At first he closed his eyes, waiting for his death. Then, he was confused. Then scared. Then angry.
“What have you done?” he said, looking at me imploringly. I looked around at the houses.
“The fire rejects this man. He has no flame, and he has judged your daughters, sisters, wives for having no flame. I leave his fate to you.”
I turned, and left the village. I heard the clerics' screams as the villagers descended upon him when I neared the outskirts. I entered the house of the one who prayed for retribution. He had hung himself, next to his wife. I opened a portal to the staircase, and went back to Sigil.
Wrath
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